Out of the Black
by heyitsyouknowwho
Summary: "I have made many wrong decisions in my life, but I know I am not wrong about this" - R.A.B. One day Regulus makes a choice, knowing that by making it he seals his fate. He walks into death with open arms, only to be dragged from its clutches at the last moment. What will he do with his second chance at life? Will he turn to the light? Or will he let darkness consume him once more?
1. The Cave

I can't believe I'm doing this. This is madness. This is insane. This is completely foolish considering my theory is based, not on fact, but on pure hunch alone. I hear a faint whimper behind me and turn to it, putting on my most reassuring smile.

"It's alright Kreacher. Everything is going to be okay," I say softly.

I know he isn't convinced, and know that if he could he'd grab my arm and drag me as far away from this place as he could. But I have ordered him here, so here he will stay.

The knife in my hand feels heavy and ice cold to touch. I place the blade over my palm, take a deep breath, and draw it across my skin. The pain is sharp, but felt like barely more than a pin-prick once you were familiar with the effects of the Cruciatus Curse. Yet I still I let out a thin hiss of pain and curse myself after a do. It seems I will always be a wimp. Right until the bitter end.

Blood pools from the wound instantly. I pocket the knife and stare at it for a while. Pure-blood. Blood some would kill for. Blood many people did. For most of my life I had been safe in the knowledge that this blood was my calling card, my safety, my right to say and do as I please. It marked me apart from the rest, as better than the rest. I watch the little puddle of red form and acknowledge the new emotion I now felt towards it. Doubt. It had crept up on me unexpectedly one day, quite out of the blue, but had steadily grown until I could no longer ignore my feelings. At the time I had been swiftly climbing up the ranks, almost as high as the Dark Lord's inner circle, which is almost unheard of for someone so young. Only my cousin Bella had ever bested that claim. I was honoured above others, and had loved every minute of it. However, the closer I got in, the more I found I did not like, nor agree with. At first it had started out as just a bit of fun. An opportunity to be free of the laws of the common man. A chance to explore things I could never hope to explore within the usual confines of society. Then the torturing had starting, and the muggle hunting. As ashamed of it as I am, I must admit I had enjoyed it. The feeling of complete power as you make a muggle, a mudblood, or a squib beg for mercy. Deciding if you could be bothered to give it. It had been bliss for a while. Had been. I knew better now.

Soon though things had started to get more serious, more twisted. There were maiming's. And killings. Some, I had seen, met fates worse than death. Once the initial euphoria of finally having control over something in my life I realised something. I didn't like what was happening, it was wrong, and I wanted no further part in it. Yet even then I had still been too cowardly to admit I was in over my head. In the end it had taken something incredibly minor to make me see sense. The Dark Lord's attempt to murder my house elf had ignited a spark within me that had grown into a fire. It was this fire that drove me forwards now as I place my hand onto the rocks in front of me and let my blood coat their grey surface.

Before long, like Kreacher had described to me, the rocks began to move until an opening big enough for me to go through became visible. I stepped through without hesitation. The water was up ahead, like Kreacher had told him, and the boat was pulled up onto the rocks. I pushed the boat into the water, scooped Kreacher up from where he stood beside me and got in. I rowed us to our destination, trying to ignore the familiar prickle of fear that was starting to bloom inside me.

The boat bumped against the island far too soon and I stepped out uneasily. The podium stood in the middle of the island, towering over them on a pile of boulders. I waited until I felt the familiar brush of Kreacher against my legs and knew he had gotten out of the boat before I started to climb up.

"Master, I is not liking this," Kreacher whispered.

"I know what I'm doing, Kreacher," I said over my shoulder, half hoping my words my make me believe I did as well as my house elf.

I reached the top of the rock pile quick enough and stared down onto the podium. It was all there; the bowl, the shell, and the potion. I suppressed a shudder. Then crouched down, until my eyes were level with Kreachers. His eyes were filled with fear. I lay a gentle hand on his bony shoulder and feel him shaking beneath me. I try another smile, but even I have to admit that this time it felt false.

"Right Kreacher. I have some things I need you to do," I say.

Kreacher nods reluctantly. I can tell that he already has a pretty good idea of what I am going to ask of him, and dreads my words. A small part of me feels bad for what I am about to put him through in forcing him to do this. I know it will break him to do it. But I don't have a choice. It has to be me. I have to do this. So I open my mouth to reel off my pre-prepared speech.

"I need you to make sure I drink the whole potion." Kreacher immediately begins sobbing. I raise my voice a little louder. "No matter how much I want it to stop, not matter how much I beg you to make it stop, I need you to make sure I drink it all." Kreachers sobs turn to open wails. "Then I want you to take the locket, replace it with this and do all that you can to see that the original is destroyed. Don't stop until it is destroyed." I pull out an exact replica from around my neck, containing a note that said what I had done. I force it into Kreacher's hand. Then I take a deep breath and deliver the killing blow. "I want you to leave this place as soon as you have it. Don't wait for me, or try to stop what happens to me afterwards. Just leave and destroy it. That is an order. I'll be as good as dead anyway once the Dark Lord discovers what I have done so you won't be doing me any favours by saving me. Can you do that for me Kreacher?"

By now the elf was rocking back and forth, all qualms about dignity forgotten.

"Can you do that for me?" I repeat earnestly, needing his assurance.

Eventually he manages a slight jerk with his head, which I take to be a nod. I sigh sadly. "I am sorry for this," I whisper.

Then I'm up and standing next to the podium, with the shell in my hand ready to plunge into the liquid. It felt weird to be about to do this. To betray the man I had hero worshiped since childhood. It was strange how the world works sometimes. I cast one last wistful look round, knowing that these will probably be the last sane moments I ever experience. Before I lose my nerve I drop the shell into the liquid and drain it in one gulp.

I feel the effect immediately. It was like drinking ash. It coated my mouth, drying it, and made me gag. The next cupful is like sand and scrapes the back of my throat. Then it's tiny shards of glass that cut my insides as it goes down. Ice that fills me to the core. The fifth is molten fire that burns through the ice, yet never melts it. At six my whole body spasms, my muscle clench together so I double over in pain. Each mouthful adds a new layer of pain. I lose count after ten. At some point my arms stop working and my vision starts to blur. Yet still the potion keeps coming. I want it to stop. I beg for it to stop. I can't remember where I am. More potion. I want to go home. I need to or I'll die. Still more potion. I know someone is with me but I can't remember who and I can't see their face. More and more potion. The someone keeps giving me the potion. I hate them. I try to hit them. Doesn't work. My head hurts. Chest hurts. Everything hurts.

Potion. Potion. Potion.

I want to die.

Then it stops. Blink. It's over. I'm glad. Happy. But thirsty. Very very thirsty. Water. Must have water. Need water. Must find water. See water. Lots and lots of water. Must drink. Will make it better. Stumble over. Step. Step. Step. Fall. Crawl. Bend. Drink. Gulp. Swallow.

The water is nice. The nicest thing I've ever tasted. I start to feel better. The fog in brain lifts a little. I can see better, but I still can't remember where I am. Or what I'm doing here. I start to lift my head away from the surface to see where I am.

Then a pair of clammy hands grab my head and pull. Just before my head plunges back into the water I see its face. It is pale, its skin stretched tightly over its bones, it eyes cloudy white. And it's dead. Very, very dead.

Inferi.

My face hits the water again and I start to struggle, but I'm weak from the potion, not a strong as I usually am. My knees scrape against the rocks and my hands frantically try to find purchase but it's no use. I can't grab hold. I'm not strong enough. And slowly but surely I start to slip into the water.

More hands grab me. They're on top of me now. In the distance I can hear Kreacher shrieking. Kreacher! No! Suddenly I remember everything. He should have left by now. I didn't want him to see this. I try to yell to him, to order him away, but all I get is a mouthful of sea water. I'm fully submerged. I'm starting to sink. I'm drowning.

I try desperately to prize the hands off me but there are hundreds of them now, covering almost every inch of my body. I'm falling fast. My chest starts burning, begging me to breathe, but I know that as soon as I give in to it I'll be gone. I know I should just do it, to stop prolonging the inevitable. This is what I wanted after all, but even at the end I am still the same coward as always. I don't want to die.

I have heard it said that drowning is a peaceful way to die. Whoever said that was a fool. This is not peaceful. This is horrific. No light. Cold. And it hurts. A lot.

Despite myself I do what I am terrified of doing. I can't help it. My lungs are screaming at me for oxygen. I can't hold on anymore. I try to breathe. My lungs expand desperately and fill with water. It is the beginning of the end.

Finally.

Down. Down. Down. I can't see anything. I'm heavy. I'm tired. The hands that hold me don't feel cold anymore. They feel warm. Just like an embrace. I'm ready to join them.

Until a distant burst of bright red light shines down through the gloom above me. I try to life my head but I don't have the strength. My surroundings get brighter, the light gets closer. The hands holding me tighten. Then they are gone.

Suddenly I am being pulled up. Water gushes past me. It's like an invisible rope is wrapped around my chest and dragging me up.

I break free of the water and crash into the rocks. I gasp, then cough up what feels like a ton of water. Then I throw up. Breathe some more. Then throw up again. My vision starts to fade.

The last thing I hear before I give in to oblivion is the sound of a familiar voice yelling.

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING!"


	2. Reunion

I come round to a banging head and a stinging check. The banging head I can understand. The stinging cheek confuses me. I open my eyes. What I see is blurred so I keep blinking, until gradually everything around me comes into focus. I can just about make out the cave ceiling in the gloom, so I know I haven't been moved, when I am lifted without warning off the floor by the scruff of my neck and slammed unceremoniously against a rock. My brain rattles about in my skull and I try to move my hands up to defend myself but find that they are tied behind my back. An interesting development.

I look about dazed until my eyes find my attacker. They widen in shock and I feel my eyebrows shoot up into my hairline.

It can't be.

Before I can even begin to fathom what is happening my attacker raises his hand high into the air. I frown at it, wondering what he could possibly be doing. Then he lets it whiz it down to crack against my cheek. The sound reverberates around the room. I wince at the pain. My cheek feels like it's on fire. At least I know why it was stinging when I woke up. He must have slapped me awake.

"What the hell are you doing here?" my attacker growls.

Despite my predicament I scoff. "I could ask you the same question." I croak hoarsely, my throat raw from sea water.

The blow is fast. I don't even see him raise his fist before he sends it crunching into my face again. I note that he kindly chose to avoid my nose, but the force of the hit was still enough to split my lip. Blood drips down from it onto my chin. It tastes bitter on my tongue, as though remnants of the potion I consumed still swam within it. I cringe at the thought.

"I am in no mood for your games tonight. Tell me what you were doing here before I do something I regret," my attacker barks, his eyes ablaze with cold fury.

I let my head flop back onto the rock behind me and observe him for a few moments. I haven't him this close up in years. It's remarkable how little he has changed. Same haircut, same gloating face that I had grown to hate other the years. Looking at him now you'd never believe the heartache he had caused me and my family.

But then, he had always been a selfish man my brother.

I try to answer but my voice catches in my throat and comes out as barely more than a whisper. I shake my head. "Water," I gasp.

Sirius smirks. "Don't you think you've had enough of that already?" he says.

I glare at him. Then, to my surprise, he starts to rummage about in the pockets of his cloak. He pulls out a battered metal canteen that I recognise instantly. It was the one James Potter had bought him for Christmas years ago, when my brother had been about thirteen. It had been an ongoing inside joke turned competition between Sirius and his friends: who could get him the most mundane, muggle present. It had drove our parents mad. I can remember watching him unwrap it, face full of glee, seconds before Mother had torn it from his grasp. She'd thrown it straight into the fireplace, but he must have retrieved it later when they had all gone to bed. In fact, if I squint my eyes I am sure I can still see scorch marks surrounding the image that Sirius had describe as a 'Superman', whatever that was. How Sirius had managed to keep it safe all those years in our house, with fathers constant searches of his room, I couldn't guess. Maybe he'd sent it to Potter, or one of his other minions for safekeeping.

Sirius lifts the flask to my lips and I take a few deep gulps from it, savouring the sensation of the cool liquid running down my raw throat.

Then Sirius snatches it away from me. I begin to protest, but he cuts me off instantly. "You can have more when you start talking," he snarls.

I sigh heavily. "You won't believe me."

"Don't care. Talk," he demands bluntly.

I stare at him evenly, wondering whether it was worth even trying to lie to him. Sirius had always been able to see right through me, even as small children. No doubt he'd probably have a stash of veritaserum hidden away in that cloak of his, and I knew it would make his day if I gave him an excuse to use it. Besides, after what I had just done there was really no point in lying. I was a dead man walking once the Dark Lord heard of what I had done.

"Trying to find something," I grunt.

Sirius arches an eyebrow. "In the sea?"

I roll my eyes. "In the cave," I reply tersely.

"Did you find it?"

I nod. Speaking was making my throat burn.

"What was it?" Behind his look of supreme contempt I can see a hint of curiosity pass over my brother's face.

But I wan not giving in to him that easily. "Water." My voice is starting to crack.

The curiosity is replace instantly with the famous scowl. "What was it?" he asks more forcibly.

I look away. Out of the corner of my eye I see him clench his fist. The corner of my mouth twitches. To irk him further I pretend to become intensely interested in a small pebble that rests next to my thigh. My attempt at play-acting doesn't last long as his boot lands slams squarely against my chest, knocking the air out of me and pushing me further into the rocks. I sneer up at him.

"Tell. Me," he shouts, twisting his boot painfully into my skin.

"Wa. Ter," I demand, my voice barely audible now.

Sirius shouts in rage, but the boot is removed and he thrusts the flask into my mouth again. It clangs painfully against my teeth but I am too in need of relief to care.

When I have drank nearly all the water in the flask Sirius pulls it back and shoves it into his pocket roughly. He crouches so his face is mere inches from mine. "Now, either tell me what it was or I'll throw you back in there," he says, jerking his head towards the water behind us. The ferocity in his eyes tells me he's not joking.

I lick my lips nervously, and wince as my saliva brushes against my cut. "A locket."

Sirius blinks. "What?"

I repeat myself.

"A locket?" he frowns.

"Yes," I say through gritted teeth.

"You almost got yourself killed over a piece of jewellery?" It looked like he was struggling between severe disbelief and raucous laughter.

I say nothing. I don't want to give him the satisfaction.

"Why?" Sirius inquires, his eyes narrowing, apparently choosing disbelief.

I shrug. "It's important."

"To whom?"

"The Dark Lord."

Sirius smiles, as though my words had solved the mystery for him. "So you were taking it for Voldemort?"

I shake my head. The frown returns to Sirius' face.

"What then?" he asks incredulously.

"I was stealing it."

"Fuck off," Sirius laughs, turning away his face away from me in disbelief.

"I was!" I insist, indignant.

"Why would you steal from Voldemort?" he says looking back at me, though I get the feeling he is talking more to himself then to me so I choose to remain quiet and save my voice. Sirius' eyes flicker between mine, and I can see the cogs turning in his head as he tries to understand the situation. Then he looks around. "Where is it then?"

I shrug again. "Kreacher has it."

"Kreacher?" Sirius asks, working the house elf's name like it was some kind of unpleasant food he'd been forced to eat, his face a picture of upmost disgust.

"He came with me. I told him to take it away and destroy it," I explain.

Sirius looks at me as if I had just told him that The Dark Lord had decided to give up his life of tyranny in the pursuit of becoming a ballerina. "You had an item of extreme importance to Voldemort and you trusted it to Kreacher?"

It's my turn to smile, which I do vehemently. "Yes I did," I say, taking great pleasure in knowing the fact that Sirius had always hated and mistrusted the elf.

He backhands the smile from my face and storms away. He kept his back towards me for a few moments, and though I can't see his face I know it will be creased deep in a scowl. I suppress a sigh and try to ignore my cheek, which is throbbing as a result of my brother's rough handling.

Sirius turns back towards me and observes me for a few moments more, a whole world of questions swimming behind his eyes.

"Right," he says and strides towards me.

The sudden movement alarms me and I try to scramble away, completely forgetting about the fact that my hands are tied and there is a rock behind me, so all I accomplish is a sharp whack on the head which causes me to groan. Sirius stoops down, grabs me by the collar of my shirt and hauls me up until I am standing. My heads spins and I stagger slightly, my shoulder bashing into his chest.

"What are you doing?" I stammer.

He ignores my question and takes out his wand from his pocket. I flinch on instinct. He notices and smirks.

"You're coming with me," he says and suddenly I realise what he intends to do.

"It won't work," I blurt out.

"What won't work?" he snaps.

"You can't apparate in here," I say. Sirius scoffs and brandishes the wand with more confidence. "The cave's protected against it. If you try it you'll get us splinched or worse. Believe me, I know," I splutter frantically.

Sirius' eyes rake over my face in contempt. "How did you get in here then?" he asks, looking around for an explanation.

"The boat," I say, nodding my head towards it, somewhat surprised that it hadn't glided back to where it came from by now.

Sirius exhaled dramatically and shoved the wand back into his cloak. He dragged me towards the boat, and was about to step inside when he let out a harsh shriek, and snatched his foot back. He let go of me and I stumbled away from him, crashing into the floor once more.

"What?" I shout in alarm.

Sirius stares into the boat with a look of such intense rage that makes even me, who had grown used to his moody outbreaks over the years, nervous. When it became clear that he wasn't going to tell me, or help me back to my feet, I start to shuffle along the floor until I reach the boat. Clumsily I manoeuvre myself onto my knees, which is hard to do when your hands are tied behind your back, and look over the side. I understand my brother's reaction immediately.

Cowering behind one of the oars, as though it would offer him any protection what-so-ever, was Kreacher.


	3. Captured

I swear under my breath and let my forehead rest on the side of the boat. "You were meant to leave, Kreacher," I say dimly.

I glance over at Sirius. He had gone milk white, like he'd seen a ghost.

"I thought you said that this…." he stopped as he searched for the right word, " _thing_ was meant to be destroying the locket."

"He was," I conceded.

Kreacher averted his eyes from mine. He shuffled around on his feet, clearly sensing my displeasure. "I is sorry Master, Kreacher only wanted to make sure that the Traitor did not harm you."

I think about my split lip, throbbing cheek and chest where I am sure Sirius had left a boot shaped bruise. "You've done a good job, thank you," I say, trying to keep the bitterness I felt from my voice.

I succeed apparently, as Kreacher looks up and smiles at me. "I is glad you is not dead, Sir." A single tear trickles down the side of his face.

"Me too," I reply, though I don't believe what I say.

"Enough," Sirius says suddenly. He appeared to have overcome his sudden shock-induced paralysis; the colour had returned to his cheeks and his breathing returned to its normal rate. "Get in," he barks at me, and shoots his hand out to grab the scruff of my neck.

I try to step in gracefully, but Sirius shoves me as soon as I find my feet so I end up sprawled on the floor of the boat next to Kreacher. I feel the elf lay a small but protective hand on my shoulder. Then I notice that he has the locket around his neck, and can't help but feel relieved that at least a small part of my plan had succeeded.

"Do not hurt Master Regulus," Kreacher squeaks ferociously.

"I'll do what I bloody well like," Sirius shoots back, stepping onto the boat with the poise he had denied me.

I roll my eyes: doing what he liked was the story of my brother's life.

"Now, be a good little house elf and row us out of here." Sirius orders, a mocking smile playing on his lips as he perched himself safely onto the bench.

Kreacher looks at me, and I can tell he would be only too happy to refuse, but I nod my head quickly. The last thing I needed was for them to start a full blown fist fight. Kreachers ears sag in disappointment, but he snaps his fingers dutifully and the boat instantly starts to glide away from the island, putting more distance between me and the potion with each second. For that I am grateful. I hope never to come near that awful stuff, or indeed this place, ever again.

"Is that it?" Sirius says after a while, pointing towards the locket around Kreachers neck.

I nod. Sirius scoffs.

"Hardly looks worth the bother," he says dismissively.

If my hands had been free I would have slapped him. I content myself with shooting him a fierce glare and not giving him the satisfaction of a reply. Sirius really could be tedious when he was in such a self-righteous mood.

The journey back takes a lot longer than the journey towards, but then I suppose times always moves ridiculously fast when you are dreading something. I decide I might as well make the most of the time seeing as it would likely be the only rest bite I'd get for the foreseeable future. I couldn't be entirely certain of course, but I was almost sure that my brother was taking me to some safe house of the Order of the Phoenix, and despite what the general wizarding population liked to believe, the Orderers could be just as vicious as the Death Eaters when they wanted to be.

And they would want to be with me.

When I eventually felt the boat bump against land my brother wasted no time in hauling me to my feet again. I stagger off the boat and turn just in time to see Sirius hurl Kreacher after me. He landed heavily on the ground and I feel a short stab of anger course through my veins, as it always did whenever someone mistreated my elf, but I know it would be foolish of me to react. Half the time when we were children Sirius had only abused Kreacher to try and get a rise out of me.

Sirius marched towards me and gave me a shove towards the opening I had created earlier. He raised his foot to kick at Kreacher, but the elf was too quick, springing to his feet and after me before Sirius could manage a swing. Kreacher was massaging his wrist, which I assumed must have been what he landed on when he fell and I feel my anger rise again. I swallow it down. Not now.

After the entrance, getting out of the cave proved to be just as easy as it had getting in, and in no time at all I found myself back in the open air. I had no way of knowing how long I had been in the cave, but the sun was still up so it couldn't have been more than a few hours. I took in a deep breath of sea air and stared at the sky above me. I hadn't thought that I'd see the light of day again when I had entered the cave. After what I had just been through even just standing outside with the warm summer sun beating down on my face felt like a luxury. A luxury I wasn't allowed to enjoy for long as I heard a yell behind me.

I whirled around to find Sirius trying to prize the locket from around Kreachers neck. The elf was putting up a tremendous fight despite the alarming height difference between the two (Kreacher hardly reached Sirius' knee). Sirius seemed to have succeeded in getting the locket from around Kreachers neck, but the elf had managed to grab hold of it, and was now been swung about in mid-air as Sirius shook it viciously, trying to detach him. I couldn't help but grin with pride as I heard Kreacher hurl insult after insult at my brother in the struggle. It felt just like old times.

But then Kreacher lost his grip and fell to the floor. Sirius wasted no time in pocketing the locket and once again swung his foot back. This time Kreacher wasn't fast enough, and my brother's boot landed on his small frame with a sickening thud. Sirius raised his foot again, and I felt my anger flair for the third time.

"SIRIUS, LEAVE HIM" I shout.

His foot stops in mid air and he shoots me a look of disgust, but he puts his foot down again without incident, so I know I have won that battle. Kreacher staggered to his feet and returned to my side. I feel him lean against my leg and I look down.

"Kreacher, go home," I say to the him softly. Apparently not soft enough, as my brother, along with Kreacher, shout in protest. "Give Mother an excuse. One she'll believe. She cannot know what I've done," I say quickly.

Sirius begins to stride forwards, closing the gap between us at break-neck speed.

"Go, Kreacher," I urge him.

Kreacher looks towards Sirius, who was almost upon us, and then back at me, his eyes huge disks of sadness.

"GO!" I yell.

With one last sorrowful look he disappears. Sirius' hand closes on thin air in the space where he had just been.

"Damn it," Sirius curses and straightens up. I let out a sigh of relief. I look towards him and instantly regret it as his hand shoots towards me. Expecting another blow I take a step away, lose my footing and almost fall backwards into in sea but his fist latched onto my shirt just in time.

Without warning he spins us around, and the cave and the sea vanish into a mix of cataclysmic colours and movements. My stomach lurches, as it always does when I apparate. Thankfully we land somewhere quickly, but for the moment I don't care where, as I focus my mind on the almost impossible task of preventing extreme vomiting. Sirius noticed my struggle and stepped hastily away from me. In the end it is an alarmingly close call, but I manage to gulp it down.

I look up to find I am in an empty room. Completely empty. No furnishings, no decorations, no windows. No anything. The only item of interest was a muggle light that hovered beneath the ceiling, which seemed to flicker every eight seconds or so. Otherwise the room was completely blank. Like no one had ever stepped foot it in. The sparseness was alarming.

Behind me I heard a door open. I look over my shoulder to see Sirius on its threshold. He looks me up and down. "I'll be back," he says ominously and shuts the door behind him with a snap. It locked behind him.

"Always the drama queen," I mutter, shaking my head.

I watch the door for a few seconds to make sure that he actually had gone somewhere, and wasn't just trying to frighten me. Then I turn my attention once more to the room to check if it really was as empty as I had first thought. It was. I'm in the middle of it, and for some reason this makes me feel too exposed, so I step over to one of the walls, half expecting there to be some kind of booby trap that I'd set off when I moved. Nothing happened so I felt safe to lean my back against it. After a few dull minutes of waiting I let myself sink to the floor. No point in wasting energy unnecessarily, as I'm pretty sure that I'll be being interrogated again within the next the hour. I groan. Becoming a prisoner of the Order of the Phoenix really hadn't been the way I had imagined today going.

My head still feels foggy from the potion so I decided to close my eyes to shut out the world for a bit and see if that helped.

How long I was like this I'd never know as there was no way of telling time. Plus there was the fact that I fell asleep at some point, which didn't really surprise me. My body had gone through a lot in the last few hours. Adrenalin had been all that had kept me going through most of it, and that was bound to wear off at some point.

I'm startled awake by the sound of the door, and I snap my head up quickly. I look to the door, expecting to see Sirius at the threshold again.

It's not Sirius.

Not even close to being Sirius.

Panic courses through my veins. I hadn't expected this. Even my worst nightmares could not have conjured up this. This was bad. Worse than bad. This was catastrophic.

Ice blue eyes locked onto mine and I felt myself shrink back into the wall, hoping that it would by some weird turn of events swallow me up whole. Of course that didn't happen, and there I stayed, quivering, as the figure stepped closer towards me. The only way this situation could have been made any worse was if The Dark Lord himself had stepped into the room.

But this was still a close second.

"Good evening," said the figure of Albus Dumbledore. He walked forwards and stopped about half a meter in front of me, and looking down his long nose at me. I swallow hard and try to match his gaze.

This could not be good.


	4. An Offer

"I must say, I had hoped that when we met again it would be under friendlier circumstances," Dumbledore said brightly.

He flicked his wand and the rope binding my wrists disappeared. I snapped my hands up to my chest and inspected them. Sure enough, a ring of red raw skin circled each wrist where I'd struggled against the rope. I rub them, trying to massage some feeling back into them; they must have fallen asleep with the rest of me. It helps a little, but not much.

"In case you are wondering your brother has kindly taken guardianship of your wand," Dumbledore offered after a few silent moments had passed between us.

Funnily enough the whereabouts of my wand hadn't crossed my mind, but I suppose it was nice to know where it was, even if that meant knowing my brother had it. I struggle hesitantly to my feet, not sure whether Dumbledore would allow it, but he made no move to stop me. Once standing I stare at him, waiting for him to make the next move.

He flicks his wand again and two comfortable looking armchairs appeared. I frown. That wasn't what I had been expecting. My head is still foggy with sleep and my brain can't really compute the situation. Dumbledore motions with his free arm that I should sit down in one of the armchairs. My frown deepens. Definitely not what I was expecting. I don't move and stay firmly pressed against the wall. I refuse to trust anything about this man. There was a reason The Dark Lord was afraid of him after all, and I wasn't going to take any chances. Dumbledore shrugged at my refusal and settled himself down in one of the armchairs. He observed me closely, the glass in his spectacles doing nothing to lessen the intensity of his gaze. As long as I'd known him he had always had a way of making me feel uncomfortable, and now was no different.

"I believe we have some matters of importance to discuss," Dumbledore said. Another flick of his wand and a footstall appears in front of his armchair. He propped his feet up onto it and settled himself back into the seat. He's still staring at me, and despite my resolve to be courageous I feel myself shrink even further back into the wall. At this point I am amazed that the wall and I are still two separate entities, and not combined as one, considering how tightly pressed against it I am.

After a few moments of awkward silence Dumbledore cocked his head to the side. "I think, perhaps, this conversation might be more successful if you sat down," he said, once again motioning to the chair.

My eyes flit to the armchair, and back to Dumbledore quickly. I don't really know why I'm refusing: it's an odd feeling, being trapped in the midst of your enemies.

I sat down.

Dumbledore smiled again in response. It was getting creepy at this point.

"Sirius tells me that he found you in the middle of stealing this from Voldemort," he said, and produced the locket from an inside pocket in his robe.

My eyes lock on it. He held it by the chain, and the pendant dangled down, revolving menacingly in mid-air. It glints in the light, and I am momentarily distracted.

"Did he?" I ask, trying to sound nonchalant, but the effect is ruined by the way my voice cracks as I speak. I could have slapped myself.

"He did." Dumbledore said, putting the locket safely back into the confines of his robes. "Is this true?"

I nod.

Well. It was more like an erratic jerk of the head as I was too tense for free movement, but he understood my meaning. He tilts his head back, observing me down his nose. His elbows rest on the armrests and his spayed fingers meet each other across his midriff.

"Why?" Dumbledore inquires.

I shrug.

He arches an eyebrow.

I look away.

"It's important to him," I concede.

"In what way?"

"I don't know."

"You and I both know that isn't true."

I meet the blue eyes again and swallow hard. A small droplet of perspiration trickles down the side of my face. I hope he won't notice, though I know that of course he will. Dumbledore never misses anything.

I don't know what to say. Suddenly I'm unsure. I don't know if I've done the right thing. I mean, yes I had become slightly disenfranchised with the Death Eaters cause, and, yes, I might not have shared the same magnitude of extreme views as them for the past few months, but I still thought of many of them as my friends outside of all that. It was only the Dark Lord, and a few of his more fanatical supporters who I had a problem with. But did that mean I was willing to openly betray him to his biggest adversary? It was far more than I had ever factored for. Far more than I could ever have imagined. My betrayal hadn't seemed so big when I had planned for it to only involve myself and Kreacher. Now, it was quickly becoming an untameable beast that I didn't know how to manage and all I can think about was the awful, painful, horrific, drawn-out death that would await me the second this got back to any of my old comrades.

Then it struck me. All things considered, Dumbledore must now thinking of me as a potential convert. An ally. Someone he'd want to protect. And again, all things considered, if there was anyone who could protect me through this mess there was no better person than Dumbledore.

I take a deep breath.

"It's," I begin, then stop. I'd never actually voiced my suspicions aloud before. Not even to Kreacher. My theory had been mine and mine alone. To share it was to test everything I had been researching up to this point. A horrible thought crossed my mind: what if I was wrong? What if all this had been for nothing? I don't think I could cope if I found out everything I had done over the last few months had been for nothing.

I force the thought down and clear my throat.

"I believe it to be a Horcrux."

Dumbledore doesn't react. Of course he doesn't. He's Dumbledore. Dumbledore was the type of man who could be told that The Dark Lord had been murdered, and he would still act the same, as if you had only told him it was a little overcast outside. This ability to control ones emotions had always baffled me. I had always been told my face was like an open book: easy to read and colourless.

"How did you come to this conclusion?" Dumbledore said eventually.

It's funny because somehow, now that I have voiced aloud the thing that had been on my mind for so long but had never been able to speak of, the words tumble out of me as easily as water running from a tap. I tell him everything. I tell him about my growing dissatisfaction within the Death Eater ranks and my distaste for some of their acts of violence. I tell him about The Dark Lords mistreatment towards Kreacher, how this had led to my research into the object he had so desperately tried to protect, and how I had pieced together snippets of information I had gathered here and there to come to my conclusion. I tell him about my plan, and how I had intended to die in the cave and for Kreacher to destroy the locket afterwards. Dumbledore listens to my story without interruption.

After I have finished he flicks his wand again. A glass of something materialises on the arm rest next to me. I snatch it up and down the contents, not caring what it is at this point. My throat is on fire after talking so much and hurts almost as bad as it had after I had just drunk the potion back in the cave. It was pumpkin juice, not that I wasted too much time on tasting it. I set the empty glass back onto the armrest and wipe a couple of stray droplets from my chin where I had missed my mouth in my haste.

"I take it this no longer means that you consider yourself a Death Eater?" Dumbledore asks.

I narrow my eyes. I don't like where this is going.

"I thought I'd be dead by now so I haven't really thought about it," I say carefully, picking at a stray thread on the armrest beside me.

There was a pause.

Then.

"Would you consider working for the Order?" he asks as though what he asks was not only re-signing, but also laminating my own death warrant.

I blink. "In what capacity?"

My voice is tense and if I hadn't been sat down I would have probably collapsed. I know the colour had drained from my face and my heart hammers painfully against my chest, blood pumping fiercely in my ears. The tips of my fingers start to tingle as they always do whenever I'm scared.

Dumbledore must have sensed my tribulation. "There is no need to decide anything now, I know it is a lot to ask of you, and you have already done so much already," he says calmly. "It is just something I feel you should consider. Within the Order we could protect you against any repercussions your actions might draw should anyone find out, and your aid in return would help the war effort immensely."

It's a good speech. A great speech. Not one I had ever particularly wanted to hear, and I certainly wished I hadn't heard it, but on the grand scheme of things it could have gone worse. I didn't know what to say so I stayed quiet.

"I'll be in touch," Dumbledore said, and rose to his feet. He flicked his wand and his armchair and footstool disappeared. Mine remained, thankfully.

Dumbledore strolled to the door and opened it. I heard him chuckle. I looked over, but he was blocking my sightline to whatever it was that caused the reaction.

"Eavesdropping, Sirius?" Dumbledore says light-heartedly.

I roll my eyes. Obviously.

"No, of course not, that would be highly unprofessional," I hear my brother say as I stand up.

He's lying. I know it. Dumbledore certainly knows it, but he lets it slide.

"I'll let you see your brother off," Dumbledore says and looks back at me, the laugh-lines still highlighted on his face. "Carry on as normal until we next speak, Regulus, but keep in mind what I have said."

He nods his goodbye and exits the room, leaving my brother and me standing in awkward silence. I feel numb. Today had been such a weird day.

Sirius looks me up and down distastefully.

"Come on out then, loser," he grunts.

I roll my eyes again and walk out of the room.


	5. Stars

Outside the room is a hallway. Sirius starts walking down it before I even make it over the threshold. He doesn't look back to check that I'm following; his arrogance assures him I am. And annoyingly, in this situation, his arrogance is entirely correct as I scamper quickly to catch up.

I'm led through a labyrinth of corridors. I try to keep track of where I am going in case it becomes relevant later on but in the end, I am forced to give up. I would never be able to memorise these twists and turns.

Eventually, we arrive at our destination, which is nothing but a disappointment. It's a room that looks identical to the one we just left. A small voice in the back of my head suggests that it might even be the same one. I wouldn't put it past my brother to take me on a wild goose chase around whatever building we're in, just to return me to the same place we started. The idea had his sense of humour stamped all over.

"Get in," Sirius orders. He's got my wand, he must have pulled it from some pocket in his cloak along the way. He's twiddling it between his fingers, almost like he is taunting me to try and take it, which I obviously never will because I'm not stupid.

Tentatively, I take a baby step into the room. Nothing happens.

"What now?" I ask.

"The can is a portkey," Sirius says. "It'll take you home."

It's only then that I notice the rusty, misshapen tin can on the floor in the centre of the room. It's rusting in some places, and a couple on pinprick holes mar the surface.

"Do I get my wand back or am I to return unarmed?"

The wand stills in his hand but he makes no move to give it back. He licks his lips; his brow creases, eyes trained on the can at my feet. He opens his mouth, then closes it again, pursing his lips.

"What?" I say when the silence becomes unbearable.

"How's Mum?" he asks.

 _Small talk? Really?_

"Alive," I say. I don't know what else to say.

"Good."

Assuming, or rather hoping, the moment is over, I walk to the portkey. My toes are centimetres away from the can when my brother speaks again.

"And Dad?"

I frown. Does he not know? It would be peculiar if he didn't, but then, I suppose, no one would have thought to send him an owl. I certainly hadn't and Mother would have strangled anyone who suggested the idea. Maybe he didn't know.

"Dead," I say.

He does well to hide his reaction but I am so used to his face that even the minutest of changes in his expression is amplified. I might as be looking at him through a magnifying glass. The corners of his mouth droop down and the pupils in his eyes shrink in size. I doubt anyone else would have noticed the changes but after growing up with his face I do and in doing so, I realise.

No. He hadn't known. And I had been to one to break it to him.

Brilliant.

"When?" he asks hoarsely, looking at me like a wounded puppy.

For some reason, his reaction aggravates me. It might the way he treated Kreacher and I back in the cave, or the fact that he had broken mother's heart, or that his betrayal had probably been the final nail in father's coffin, but I suddenly feel the strong primal urge to hit him. A nasty voice in the back my head goads me to do it but I don't. I'm not that cruel. Yet I cannot find it within myself to show him pity.

"It's alright. You don't have to act like you care. I know you don't," I say.

Sirius flinches at my words, as though stung. He starts to speak again but I don't want to hear it.

Without a second glance, I kick the portkey and the vision of him is replaced by my front door. The accuracy of placement is alarming. I wonder how many other Black family secrets my brother had decided to let loose. The can had been in mid-motion when I'd disappeared, so it slams into the door a second after a land, adding yet another blemish to the wooden surface. I look up at the sky. Night has fallen while I have been a captive and the stars are out in force. Even though I know it's nonsense I like to think they are the faces of my family welcoming me back home. It had been my favourite game as a child; seeing how many family members I could spot up there. Pollux. Cygnus. Bellatrix. Arcturus. Orion. I would get extra excited whenever I saw my own star: Regulus. Father had spent hours teaching us, Sirius and I, back when Sirius was the favourite and I was the spare, how to spot them. Sirius, the Dog Star, is the brightest star in the sky. I can see it up there now, blazing down in all its taunting glory: there is rarely a night that goes by without Sirius making an appearance. Mine is much harder to spot, often only viewable with the help of a telescope. It's the brightest object in the constellation of Leo. That's why mother had named me after it: I'd been born in August and I was her shining star.

Tears burn at the back of my throat at the memory and I screw my eyes tight to force them away. When I left this morning I hadn't thought that I would ever see my home again. To be back has brought out an unexpected bought of emotion. I tell myself to get over it. This is a vast overreaction; they're just stars.

I kick the can onto next door's hedgerow and tap my wand against the door. Inside my resolve to be firm is almost broken again at the familiar sights and smells of home. Mother's perfume mixed with the fumes of alcohol and whatever Kreacher had cooked her for dinner. I think it must have been a stew of some sort. Or soup. Mother loved soup. On the walls, the countless priceless portraits of my ancestors stare down at me. Their proud faces make my heart swell and the tears return. One escapes out of the corner of my eye this time. I shake it away. I'm being ridiculous. I'd been gone less than twenty-four hours but it felt like I'd been away days. Time had stretched far out of proportion. I guess a near-death experience would have that effect on a person.

I know I should probably call Kreacher to put him out of his misery, I can only imagine how difficult the last few hours must have been for him, but my mother is more important. I have to find her before she starts to suspect anything is amiss.

I find her slumped in one of the chairs in the drawing room. She's unconscious, thanks to the empty bottle of wine she clutches close to her chest. There would be no waking her in this state. Normally I would call for Kreacher but tonight I won't. Tonight I will see to her myself. It seems only fair seeing how close she came to losing her only son.

Prying the bottle from her grasp is difficult, her grip on it is snake-like, but eventually, I wriggle it free. I inspect the label: elf wine, one of the bottles left over from my eighteenth birthday. It's strong stuff and she must have drunk the whole bottle tonight because I know we hadn't had one open when I left. No wonder she's dead to the world.

I could move her to her bed but I've never been good with hover charms, and she looks peaceful enough where she is, so I decide to leave her where she is. I fetch some blankets from the cabinet and tuck them gently under her chin. She stirs a little, mumbling something I don't understand in her sleep.

"It's Reg," I whisper and plant a gentle kiss on her forehead. She won't have heard me but it makes me feel better to say it. The mumbling soon stops and she's back under.

I scribble a letter to her on some parchment telling her I'm home before I leave.

I go to my room before I summon Kreacher, fearing the crack of his apparition would wake her. When the elf appears he stumbles around, getting his bearings, trying to work out why he's in my room. I wish I had a camera to capture the face he makes when he sees me.

"Master," he manages to croak before he bursts into tears.


End file.
